*on the Hogsmeade station platform, rain coming down heavily*
Hagrid: A'righ', first years this way.
Hermione: Hey Hagrid, are you still taking the first years across the lake?
Hagrid: Well, yea'. It's tradition.
Harry: Even when common sense would dictate NOT doing that? Hell, you've got a bunch of the best witches and wizards teaching at this school, surely one of them could magic up a…
Ron: Harry, when has common sense been a thing in this series?
Harry: Fair enough.
*in the Entrance Hall*
Ron: Ah, so good to be out of the rain *gets pelted in the face with a water balloon* What the hell?
Harry: Peeves.
Ron: How the hell do you know?
Harry: He's literally filling another one up two feet in front of us *sees he's finished* Speaking of which *steps to the side as Peeves throws it, letting Neville take it instead*
Neville: I swear, one day I'll be cool.
Harry: Yeah, good luck with that.
McGonagall: PEEVES! Stop that at once.
Peeves: Why? I'm having fun.
McGonagall: Because the children are already drenched. What you're doing is the equivalent of pissing into a sea of piss.
Peeves: Piss? An excellent idea professor *flies off with his water balloons*
Harry: Good God woman, what have you done?
McGonagall: Don't worry, he can't urinate, so you should be fine.
Peeves: *off in the distance* Come on Mrs. Norris, just a few squirts will be fine.
McGonagall: …that, on the other hand, might be a problem. For Mr. Filch, of course.
Hermione: I don't get why you just let that rogue A. I. roam the castle so freely.
McGonagall: …what?
Harry: Your top student still doesn't believe in magic.
McGonagall: She doesn't believe in magic?
Harry: You didn't know that?
McGonagall: Then how does she…
Harry: She's thinks it's really advanced science.
McGonagall: Bah, science. Who believes in that shit?
Harry: Oh, come on, can't there be ONE fantasy series where science and magic are equally accepted?
*in the Great Hall*
Ron: Can we have food now? I'm starving.
Hermione: Ron, you know we have to wait for the sorting ceremony first.
Harry: Oh yeah, I forgot about that. How do they do that these days, seeing as the Sorting Hat's M. I. A.?
McGonagall: *walking past wearing what appears to be heavy military gear* You'll see soon enough, Potter.
Harry: …should I be concerned?
Colin: Hey Harry.
Harry: Oh good, my other stalker.
Ron: You had a stalker before him?
Harry: You ARE the stalker before him.
Ron: Silly Harry, there's a difference between stalkers and best friends.
Colin: I really hope my brother ends up in Gryffindor too.
Harry: Wait, aren't your parents muggles?
Colin: Yeah, why?
Harry: What are the odds that both you AND your brother would both be wizards when neither of your parents are?
Ron: Oh Harry, it happens all the time. If one child of non-magical parents is magical, all of them are.
Harry: No, they're not. I have an aunt that proves this.
Hermione: Shh, the sorting ceremony's about to begin *points to Hagrid leading the first years into the Great Hall*
Dumbledore: Let the Hunger Games begin.
Harry: *as McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Sprout pull out automatic weapons* WHAT?! *the four teachers start firing paintballs at the first years* Oh, that's what they're doing.
Flitwick: This is much more fun than sitting through that mouldy old hat read people's minds.
Sprout: Why didn't we think of this sooner?
Snape: Probably because these are muggle technology.
Flitwick: We need to stop dismissing this shit. Who wants to go to the muggle store tomorrow?
Snape: Don't you have classes tomorrow?
Flitwick: Oh, right. Minerva, can you get your students to transfigure some lightsabres tomorrow?
McGonagall: Filius, you know that's a seventh year spell, and I don't have anything above fourth tomorrow.
Flitwick: Damn it.
*once the Sorting Ceremony was over*
Dumbledore: Alright, everyone start stuffing your faces.
Ron: About bloody time.
Nearly Headless Nick: You know Ron, the Sorting Ceremony is important.
Ron: *through a mouthful of food* Mmfmfmmfmf mmf.
Nick: What?
Harry: I think he told you to shut up.
Nick: Well, fine. I guess the house elves who cooked this outdid themselves this year.
Harry: *seeing Hermione heard this and putting her fork down* Uh oh…
Hermione: House elves made this?
Nick: Well, of course. Where did you think the food came from? Magic?
Hermione: Of course not, that would be ridiculous.
Harry: Hermione, I'm begging you, please don't make this a plot point.
Hermione: It's just that I've never even seen a house elf here.
Nick: Well, obviously. Good help is neither seen nor heard.
Harry: *sees Hermione push her unfinished food away* God damn it Nick.
Hermione: From this day forth, I will not eat anything made from slave labour.
Nick: They're hardly slaves if they don't ask for payment.
Hermione: Do they know they should be paid?
Nick: Well…no, but…
Hermione: EXACTLY! It's slave labour. In the twentieth century. How can such an advanced school allow such outdated practices?
Harry: You realise that Hogwarts probably provides them with all the food and shelter they need, as well as holidays when school's out, and therefore have no need for money?
Hermione: Harry, are you saying you approve of slave labour?
Harry: I didn't say either of those words.
Hermione: Exactly. I'm not going to eat anything served here until those house elves get the recognition they deserve.
Harry: Uh huh. And what will you eat instead?
Hermione: I…think I have some Tic-Tacs in my pocket.
Harry: Well at least your breath will smell good while you starve to death.
Dumbledore: Oh yeah, I had more shit to say.
McGonagall: Albus, the children are still eating.
Dumbledore: Oh, right *magics the remaining food away, causing many complaints* Now that I have your murderous glares, I have some more announcements.
Fred: How about more food?
Hermione: You know it comes from slave labour, right?
George: So do Disney movies, but you still starred in one of those.
Dumbledore: First of all, there will be no Quidditch this year.
Every student: …what?
Dumbledore: Instead, we will be hosting a very special event: the annual Cauldron Exhibition.
Fred: PERCY, YOU SON OF A BITCH!
George: You know the bitch in question is our own mother, right?
Fred: And your point?
*back at The Burrow*
Molly: *suddenly looks up from what she's doing* I think someone's talking negatively about me.
*back at Hogwarts*
Dumbledore: Oh, and also… *the door to the Great Hall opens, revealing a mysterious and freaky looking man, who marches straight up to the teacher's table and sits down* Doctor Who is that?
McGonagall: Albus, that joke doesn't work yet.
Dumbledore: Oh…introducing your new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher…I assume. I honestly don't remember hiring anyone.
Snape: Then what were you going to do for that class?
Dumbledore: Honestly, I was just gonna let the kids form a club and practice in secret.
Snape: That sounds like a horrible idea that would never work.
Dumbledore: You don't know that yet. Anyway, bedtime.
McGonagall: Albus, remember the OTHER thing that was going to happen this year? The one I daresay the kids will be more interested in.
Dumbledore: I dunno, the Cauldron Exhibition sounds pretty cool.
Snape: Sir, my class revolves around cauldron use, and I hate everything about that event.
Dumbledore: *sighs* Fine, we'll also be hosting two other schools for an event called the Triwizard Tournament, which brings the winner honour, glory, and a one million galleon cash prize, but I doubt any of you will be interested in…
Fred and George: We're totally signing up.
Dumbledore: No you're not, it's for seventeen year old's only.
Fred and George: WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?! *other students start yelling objections*
McGonagall: I told you that there'd be more students interested in this than the Cauldron Exhibition.
Dumbledore: But the way Percy described it made it seem so much cooler.
Snape: Yes, you should totally listen to the eighteen year old who was unpopular even within his own family and has only just started working for the Ministry. THAT was never gonna work out badly.
McGonagall: Maybe you should explain the Tournament before we have an all out riot on our hands.
Moody: Or you could use this as a way to find your champion.
McGonagall: You keep out of this, Alastor.
Moody: …oh, right, that's my name, isn't it?
McGonagall: Hmm…
Dumbledore: Well, how this works is, a representative from each of the three schools enters, and one leaves. They might even leave alive if they're lucky. Unfortunately, those spoilsports at the Ministry demanded that we make it at least survivable this time, and that only students who know what they're doing can enter.
Ron: So wait, if this doesn't affect us, why is it even mentioned?
Harry: I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this.
Dumbledore: An impartial judge will be choosing candidates, so don't bother entering if you're too young.
Fred: Want to find a way to corrupt the judge?
George: You read my fucking mind.
Dumbledore: Now, go to bed.
*on their way upstairs*
Neville: Guess it's for the best that the Tournament's only for older students. I'm not sure if I'd be able to…AHHHH! *falls through a fake step in the staircase*
Dean: He forgot it was there again, didn't he?
Colin: Hey Dennis, look! You know who that is, right?
Harry: Are either of you two important to the plot? *they shake their heads. Harry pushes them through the fake step* Ahh, so satisfying.